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Kai is fourteen when he discovers he has a soulmate. When it happens, he mistakes the feelings for his usual aversion to touch, the sting and the bite and the breathless dizziness. He doesn’t realize it until much later, when he’s alone and the burning intensifies, startling him.
He rolls up his sleeve. He expects the mark of a wound, something he can put to rights, but instead he’s met with the mark of something much more foreign: a soul.
It’s small, hardly there. Just the faintest, black, disconnected lines.
It’s said that when fated pairs touch, their very souls are left on each other’s skin. It changes them fundamentally, down to the DNA – and even deeper than that. Suddenly, their hearts are irrevocably worn on their sleeves. The more they touch, the more they leave behind.
Kai was certain he didn’t have a soulmate. He decided that love was an emotion he would– no, could not feel. And he was certain that no one could ever love him, that no one could be perfect for him, or rather, that he could not be the perfect match for someone else. He’s certain of it now, still, even faced with the evidence of the contrary.
Who touched him? Was it–? No. He refuses to entertain the train of thought.
He presses his hand to the mark and grunts at the agony of being undone and rewritten.
He does it again, reshaping his arm, perfecting it.
No, he thinks, that can’t be right. It’s still there.
Again.
Still there.
Again.
The shock wears off; he panics.
— — —
Izuku is four when he meets his soulmate.
He vaguely remembers a teenager, his face covered by a mask and the hood of a jacket over his school uniform. The feelings linger longer than and overwhelm the memory of how he looked: a tight squeezing in his chest, a sting on his arm like a pinch, a sudden rush that had him gasping in air, a full-body shiver. It was over quickly, but the strangeness never left.
He walks to the bus stop knowing something has changed, but not what.
When his mom takes his hand, the influx of painful tingling makes him yank it back. Her brow furrows in worry as she crouches beside him.
He struggles to peel back his coat, but gives it up and shoves it off instead. The tingling leads him to the mark on his skin. It’s small, hardly there. Just the faintest, black, disconnected lines.
Inko gasps, hands flying to her mouth before fumbling around in the air, wanting to touch, to reassure, to confirm, but hesitant to cause another reaction.
Izuku’s wide, green eyes stare into her own, just as wide, just as green. She smiles at her son – a wobbly thing, like it can’t support its own weight – as words escape her for a moment.
“What is that, Mama? I don’t ‘member drawin’ on myself…”
Inko giggles, swallowing back tears – whether they’re happy, sad, relieved, or something else, she’s unsure – and explains, “Honey, that’s your soulmark.”
“Soul-mark? Wait–” His bright eyes widen farther.
“Yes. It means you met your soulmate. Do you remember who it was?”
His nose scrunches as he thinks. “He was a big-kid. Um, wearing a school une-ah-form.”
Inko nods, already making plans in her head. They’ll find him.
That night, after clawing every last scrap of information about soulmates as he can from his mother, Izuku runs his fingers over the unfinished mark with a wide, giddy smile. He presses a kiss to the skin, sending a wish out to the universe that he’ll find him again soon and that he’s safe and well.
— — —
Kai resolves to forget the incident.
It doesn’t stop him from getting into fights – with boys from other gangs, kids from his school, anyone who looks at him too long. It doesn’t stop him from arguing with the Boss and getting smacked over the head. It doesn’t stop him from burning his blood-stained clothes and watching the fire with a look of utter disdain behind the mask protecting him from the smoke.
It does make him pause, sometimes, when his skin is bare, to stare at the unaffiliated lines on his arm, proof that he has a soul. But he’s previously determined that his soul is worthless, unworthy of saving, unsalvageable.
He determined it when he killed his parents and sister – an accident, I didn’t mean to, it was an accident, it was this disgusting quirk – and was left to fend for himself on the streets – just another rat like all the rest, infested with disease and left unfettered to further perpetuate the pestilence – and the only person who had any pity for him was the leader of the Yakuza. It was a fitting fate for a feckless, ruinous, futureless tramp like himself.
He’s already been saved, hasn’t he?
…Hasn’t he?
— — —
Izuku makes a habit of touching the mark to reassure himself. In moments of calamity, of hurt, of fear, he presses his hand to it, reminding himself that there is someone out there who is destined to love him regardless of anything else.
It’s unheard of for soulmates to reject each other. If one is so lucky as to meet their other half, they would be a fool to ever let them go.
So, when the doctor says he’s quirkless – when his mom tells him, “I’m sorry, Izuku” – when his father says he’s leaving for America – when Kacchan tells him he’s useless – when his classmates say, “Eww, go away, Deku!” – when his teachers tell him to stop being a bother – he holds on.
He weathers the inclement storms; he holds fast, and he hunkers down in his home-made bunker of a promise wrought by fate.
He holds onto hope, too, bolstered by that promise, making his dreams weightless as they float ahead of him, tethered to him by his tiny fists.
He’s going to be a hero and save people, isn’t he?
…Isn’t he?
— — —
Kai is fifteen when it happens again. Only, this time, a tiny body hurdles into him at a speed only achievable by small children with endless energy and unfounded fearlessness.
He grunts with a wheeze as his back hits the grass and the breath is jarred from his chest.
“Found you!” the intrepid kid – curly, dark green hair like a bush atop his head and a proud grin dimpling his freckled cheeks – shouts directly into his face.
Irritated and unimpressed, Kai scowls. “What the hell?” he groans, shoving the kid off of him. He’s too stunned to be disgusted by the contact.
The boy’s eyes become round like glass marbles, the prettiest green enveloped in shiny white. “You said a bad word.”
“Yeah, I did, twerp, and I’ll say it again. What the hell?”
“Oh, um. You’re my soulmate!” the kid shouts, again, and, oblivious to the half-covered horror on Kai’s face, follows it with, “And I’m your soulmate! We're soulmates! You an’ me!”
Kai regains his equilibrium with a shake of his head. “No. Wrong. You’ve got it wrong.” He gets his feet beneath him and stands on shaky legs.
The kid scrambles to his full height, confused and panicking now, and lunges for Kai’s arm. He manages to snag it, just barely, his fingers brushing the teen’s skin between his glove and cuff. Both of them jolt, struck by something like electricity but not quite.
Green eyes meet gold in imploring intensity. “See?” The boy reaches for him again, but he stumbles back, clutching his wrist and feeling his gut churn, bile creeping up his esophagus.
“No,” he repeats. “No, no, no. No, it can’t, I can’t–”
“It’s okay,” Freckles says softly, hands out like a white flag. “You’re okay. Take a deep breath.”
For some reason, as Kai stares into those green, green eyes filled with intent and concern, he inhales slowly and deeply. He exhales the same way.
“There, see? Ev’ything’s alright.”
For some reason, Kai believes him.
— — —
Izuku is on the cusp of five years old when he takes his soulmate home to meet his mother.
(Before this happens, Inko gets a phone call. In her ear, Mitsuki panics about Izuku having disappeared. The words are followed by an unpleasant swooping in her gut, a cold chill settling into her bones, and her heart twisting painfully as she loses her breath.
She’s putting on her shoes when the door unlocks. Preemptive relief, buoyed by hope, takes hold of her.
Inko startles badly at seeing a strange young man in the doorway behind Izuku, but gives him a welcoming smile.
She lets him in. The teen only stares listlessly, first at her, then at her son, even as he removes his footwear.
Her smile wavers slightly, but is brought back in full force as Izuku begins to ramble on at them from the elbow of his soulmate – his soulmate, he’s here, he’s real and really here – with a smile like a brilliant crescent moon.
The brown-haired boy looks at her son with an inscrutable expression. There’s nothing there for Inko to pick apart or decipher, so she sets about making tea.)
Exhilaration causing him to tremble almost violently, Izuku feels like he might vibrate his bones into dust. He stutters, words attempting to form before he has breath or time to shape them. His lungs catch on the glinting gold of his soulmate’s eyes. He bites his tongue.
“Ow.”
For the first time since Izuku grabbed the teen’s gloved hand and began dragging him from the park, the older boy makes a noise. The sound is close enough to a laugh, and Izuku is just close enough to hear it. His heart seems to abruptly fill with helium and float away from him.
It’s alright, though. He doesn’t want it back.
— — —
Kai sits gingerly on the cushiony couch with tea cupped in his hands.
He looks around, cataloguing the tidy apartment and its homely decor. The walls are neatly speckled with framed pictures of family and friends and artwork clearly made by someone not yet proficient in handling utensils. On the back of the couches and armchairs lie folded blankets in colorful patterns, knitted by someone clearly proficient at the craft. The surfaces are clear of dust, the edges free of grime, and under the scent of savory noodles and chamomile, it smells like citrus, vanilla, and something purely Midoriya.
His hand shakes as he removes his mask to sip his tea.
“Are you going to tell us your name, sweetheart?” asks his soulmate’s mother – and what a strange thing that is to acknowledge – as she sits across from him.
Kai whispers his name hoarsely, like he’s scared to speak above a susurration or perhaps because something is caught in his throat (his heart, trying to fly away from him).
Midoriya Inko smiles warmly. It’s not as wide or bright as her son’s blinding grin, but he can see where the little brat gets it from.
“Are your parents going to worry about you being gone?”
He winces. Sips his tea. Shrugs.
“Chisaki-kun, do they know where you are?” she insists worriedly. Not the deadly calm pending a storm, not the brittle bite of broken eggshell, not the sharp sting of tripped wire. Not a trick, merely a genuine question.
He finds himself answering honestly. “No. They’re dead.”
Both Midoriyas tense, and little Izuku latches onto his arm immediately like a koala. Kai discovers that he doesn’t mind it.
Inko, on the other hand, blinks back tears. “Oh, dear. Who is looking after you, then?”
“Um, the B– my guardian. Foster father. Don’t worry, he won’t notice my absence.”
“I see.” Inko clears her throat, shifting to cross her legs. “You should stay for dinner, then. How does that sound?”
Kai swallows his instinctual response, which is a firm, Hell no. It’s not that he wants to leave – gods, no, he wants to stay here forever, please don’t make him leave – but reflex is shouting at him to flee, to not trust, to never accept anything he can’t immediately repay.
“You don’t have to, dear, but we’d love it if you did.”
“...Sure.” He looks at Izuku, whose answering smile could light up the night, and his worries evaporate. “I’ll stay,” he says. I’ll stay forever, if I can, he doesn’t say, but it’s what he means. It’s what he wants.
He spent all that time denying it, pushing it away, trying to ignore it, and now here he is, so easily ensnared by a fickle promise of forever.
It’s within his grasp at this very moment, within his reach, before his eyes, under his nose, and he doesn’t want to let it go.
He never thought he’d find himself as a character in a fairy tale, whimsically privileged by the whim of fate. Those stories were for kids with normal lives, the ones who got to have dreams and hopes and aspirations, who got to grow up to be better versions of themselves. Yet, here he is in the midst of his own storybook, glimpsing the happy ending on the last page. All he has to do is take it.
— — —
Izuku is utterly captivated as he watches Chisaki unravel and unmake the dented All Might figurine. In the next moment, it reforms in his palm, shiny and new like it’s fresh out of the box.
Izuku jumps up and down, clapping his hands gleefully. “That’s the coolest quirk ever!”
Chisaki frowns. “No. It's disgusting.”
Izuku climbs onto his bed beside him to give him a hug, thrown off by the teen’s somber tone. “How come?”
Chisaki glares at his ungloved hands with unbridled revulsion. “What I just did to that toy? I can do that to a person, Izuku.”
He sucks in a startled breath.
“It’s ugly. You can’t imagine the way the blood sprays, how much of it there is…” Chisaki trails off, eyes distant like he’s staring into a world far away from this room.
Izuku crosses an arm over his stomach, feeling a bit scared and sick as he clutches onto his soulmate with the other, as if he might be able to tether him to the present with his presence.
“Then, I can put them back together like nothing happened. Except it did happen, you see. I can kill a person with a touch of my hand, just like that. It goes against the laws of nature. It’s unbalanced. No one person should have that much power in their palms. My family is dead because I killed them. I didn’t mean to, but it only took a moment. And just like that old nursery rhyme, I couldn’t figure out how to put them back together again. So, yes, this quirk is disgusting. It is not a gift, but a curse.”
Izuku nuzzles into Chisaki’s chest, mulling it over in his head. The thought of it is horrific and terrifying, and there’s nothing he can say to mitigate that. But it nags at him, his feelings and thoughts clashing over the conundrum as he struggles for the words to explain his convictions. In the end, he’s only five, and words fail him.
“Honestly, all quirks make me sick. Heroes, villains, everyone running rampant and using their quirks to cause chaos and discord. I despise them. It. It’s like a virus, infecting everyone until the whole world is rotten.”
“Um… I don’t really get it.” Chisaki opens his mouth, but Izuku interrupts. “Quirks are special. You can use them to help people.”
“They can be easily – and are often – used for the opposite as well.”
Izuku huffs in frustration.
“You don’t have to get it right now. It’s complicated.”
Izuku wriggles on the bed, unsure how to continue. He faces Chisaki with determination. “Quirks are the coolest, and I love heroes!”
Chisaki sighs. “I know.”
“I wanna be a hero. Like All Might. So I can help people!”
Chisaki’s face twists into a brief grimace before settling on exasperation. “I know, Izu-chan.”
“But… I don’t have a quirk.”
At this, Chisaki’s expression lightens into pleased surprise. Izuku flushes under the intense gaze the teen examines him through, like he’s seeing Izuku for the first time. “Is that so?”
“Yeah, so ev-ry-one says I can’t be a hero. But I’m gonna try anyway. Cuz quirks are just things people use, and anybody can be a villain or a hero, so I can just use my brain to save people instead!”
Humming thoughtfully, Chisaki folds his hands in his lap. “It’s not that you can’t be a hero. The problem is the quirks, like I said. Everyone is so fixated on the damn things.” (Izuku bites back a squeak at the bad word.) “But you’re right; a quirk is nothing but an over-used, over-powered tool that people are far too reliant on. A hero without a quirk, now that would be special, don’t you think?” Chisaki looks back down at him with a small, satisfied smile. Izuku wants to see that smile every day forever. “You’d be truly powerful if you could achieve that. You’d be perfect. Well, honestly, you already are perfect, Izu-chan,” he breathes, almost reverent, almost worshipful, his hand cupping Izuku’s cheek and a thumb brushing over dark freckles.
“Oh,” Izuku flounders, flustered, face hot and stomach full of squirmy things. No one’s ever called him perfect. And nobody’s ever said or even implied he could actually be a hero. He thinks he might melt or explode or something dramatic like that. “Thanks.”
And then he shakes his head. He had a point he was getting to. “Wait, Chi-kun. I was trying to say that you can be a hero, too! With your quirk or with-out it.” He takes the teen’s hands between his own with a hopeful expression. I think you’re the coolest even if you have no quirk or a gross quirk or whatever.”
Narrowing his eyes, Chisaki purses his lips, chewing it over until it’s digested enough to fully sink in. “You want me to be a hero,” he deadpans.
“Yeah!”
“That’s not possible,” the teen sighs, looking away. “I’ve already killed people. I’m part of a group of criminals. My life is set on an ugly and twisted path, and the only way is forward.”
“But…” Izuku thinks hard. He thinks of Chisaki’s strange, obsessive habits, the way he needs everything to be clean. “It’s like water. You wash your hands, and all the yucky stuff comes off and goes down the drain, and then your hands are all clean! Isn’t that what your quirk does? It takes the bad stuff and turns it back into good stuff. It makes things better! You can do it, too. Get rid of the bad stuff, and just keep the good things. Like me!”
“...Like you,” Chisaki agrees solemnly.
— — —
It’s not that Izuku’s childish attempt to give him advice changed his mind. But it would be a lie to say it didn’t influence him at all.
Get rid of the bad stuff, and keep the good things. Like Izuku and his mother. A complete overhaul. Make things better than they are. Make things good as new.
He turns his hands over in silent contemplation. Is that possible with his tendencies for destruction? Is it plausible that these hands, only good for wreaking ruin, could bring about something new and clean and better?
Perhaps not. But for Izuku, he can try.
— — —
Izuku is six when Kai comes home (because Kai’s home is with Izuku and Mama, even if he doesn’t say it) with a complicated word full of pride: “emancipated”. He says he’s not living with the bad people anymore.
Izuku knows this is a good thing, but he can’t help but wonder what “emancipated” really means when it has Kai washing his hands more often now, gloves on as much as he can get away with, and calling Izuku at odd hours of the night just to hear his breath over the phone.
— — —
Working a regular retail job means Kai has to put on a mask of a different kind: friendliness. He’s had politeness and manners drilled into him for years by the Boss, but he’s used to using intimidation and subtle threats to keep his head above the surface while treading the waters of society. Such tactics no longer serve him well amongst the commonfolk.
It grates on him, gravel on scraped palms against his nerves. Violence is so deeply ingrained in his psyche that he finds he misses it, in spite of his general hatred for messy, dirty things like fighting. He used to get into fights constantly, on purpose, by accident – it never mattered as long as he won. He hated it then, too, but he had something to prove, before.
Now, he’s trying to prove whatever the opposite of that amorphous “something” was.
“Reputation is everything,” the Boss told him. There are some ideals Kai still lives by.
The only time he’s violent to anyone outside of himself are with the brats at Izuku’s school who think they can get away with bullying Kai’s soulmate.
He sneers at the thought of the pretentious bastards this rotten society is raising. Schools are the government mandated breeding grounds for both heroes and villains, perpetuating the disease seeped into every corner of the world in this age. He often wishes for simpler times, times when his hands might not have been weapons of immediate, irrevocable destruction, times when Izuku would have been extraordinary instead of the odd one out.
The good thing about young children is that they are easy to scare and they are good at learning. The children at Izuku’s school learned very quickly that Kai would tolerate not a single scratch on Izuku, physical or otherwise. He checks him every day, looking into his eyes and gauging the hurts he’s been dealt by others.
Izuku still falls on his own, clumsy and awkward and uncoordinated. He still stands on his own, too, courageous only in the face of injustice. It’s a good thing that he is a terrible liar.
Kai wonders at the irony of fate, that such a ruthless, devastating monster as him could inexplicably be entrusted with the purest of pure, untainted, perfect souls. Not even that neither of them deserves it, but how could the universe make such a blunder? How could it endanger Izuku so, placing his whole, tiny being in Kai’s bloody hands?
Kai is not gentle or kind or caring or sweet or heroic. All he is is in orbit of two people named Midoriya, one of whom he would raze the world for without a second thought if that was what was wanted or necessary of him.
Instead, he was asked to be a hero.
So that is what he will become.
— — —
Inko smiles at her surrogate son as he cleans the dishes. It’s not an easy road he’s been led to walk, but it is far more difficult to cut a path yet untread. Yet, here he stands in her kitchen, barely seventeen and already graduated from high school with a full-ride to the best medical university in Japan.
She couldn’t be more proud, she thinks, though she suspects that Izuku will manage to eclipse this someday, some way, in his relentless enthusiasm and determination.
— — —
Chisaki Kai is eighteen years old when he fucks up. He knew it was inevitable, had even been attempting to selflessly impress this truth upon the Midoriyas since the moment they met and ever onward, only without saying it explicitly.
Even so, it happens.
Violence, violence, violence. It runs through him like the disease in his blood, deceptive as the curse that he occasionally mistakes for a blessing. It’s a quiet violence, subtle and unheeded, the kind that lurks in shadows, slinking low to the ground, catching its victims vulnerable with its unexpected viciousness.
He leaves for two months and comes back to those devilish, red eyes smirking cruelly, embodying everything he hates in this world in one small, mean little sack of flesh. He leaves for just two months and comes back to blood and broken bone and his boy wailing in agony, pushed out of a tree and shattered upon landing.
All it takes is one break, one snap, one cry, and then of course, Kai is there, exacerbating the issue with his deadly and his dangerous and his devastation and his disease.
He is not sure if all the red is in his mind, the color of his rage, or if it is as truly everywhere as it seems to be, soaking into everything so hauntingly, in that way that never fails to make his skin itchy and hot, even as ice shivers down his spine.
It looks a lot like Kai’s curse, so he uses his curse to fix it. He has to fix it; it’s only instinct and desperation that drives him forward, glove already discarded, hand already reaching, mind already decided.
He thinks he is rushing to the rescue, being the hero he tries so hard to mimic, but all he is is a monster, again, always the reason for ruination and another perpetuator of the rot.
His bare fingers touch broken skin, the jut of white bone sticking through red. And then the limb is gone, vaporized, and in an instant, it returns, whole and bloodied but unbroken.
The screams don’t stop then, however. They just keep going.
Kai is going to hear those screams echoing in his mind for the rest of his life.
— — —
Izuku is eight when he loses a limb. Izuku is still eight when he gets it back. (Izuku is still eight when he wonders if he really got his own body part back or whether it was something entirely new masquerading as his own.)
Izuku thinks he understands Kai better now. The immediate hives on his skin at the sight of blood, at the threat of infection. His aversion to the color red. His distant gaze as he remembers horrors Izuku cannot yet fathom or comprehend, though he’s beginning to.
He thinks he understands now why Kai treats Izuku as if he is precious, fragile, delicate. Izuku always thought he could get right back up after every bump or scrape or cutting remark. He thought he could handle anything, because he has to if he’s going to be a hero.
But nothing prepares you for pain except for pain.
He lost a leg today. The whole thing - gone in less than a second. He blinked again, there it was, but he still felt it missing. He still felt the rending of it being torn from him so easily, like paper in a shredder, fruit in a blender, one moment whole and then suddenly in all of those pieces.
Kai does not want to touch him anymore. This is maddening because all Izuku wants at the moment is for his hero to hold him.
He presses himself up and in and against the man until he finally gives in and lets Izuku shove their bodies together, tight enough that maybe he just has to push a little bit harder and they will finally merge into one being. He never accomplishes this, though he tries often. It helps that Kai is so much bigger than him, able to wrap him all up and make him feel like he is living inside of him the way he wants to.
Kai holds him for a long time. Neither of them have any words except apologies they’ve already exhausted.
— — —
Sometimes Izuku can’t sleep without Kai. They haven’t spent that many nights together, but the ones they have are memorable enough to cement themselves as vital, integral sources of comfort, safety, home.
Sometimes, Kai will admit to himself that he can’t sleep without Izuku either. Especially when he goes on long excursions to other countries as part of exchange programs and to attend exclusive seminars. Those are exhausting, and he thinks of Izuku every other minute as though the distance is tugging on some invisible tether tying them together, pulling taut and plucking a sorrowful hymn.
They’ve had enough contact by now for their marks to solidify into something recognizable. A wolf on its back, golden eyes gleaming, as the rabbit perched on its upturned belly gazes down, with glittering, emerald eyes, knowingly. Parts of the animals remain fuzzy and unclear, and the image is still small. It will grow and clarify with time, with touch.
It’s an irrevocable marking of their progress, an indelible sign of how their souls fit together. It’s still not enough.
So when he comes back for Izuku’s tenth birthday, he comes bearing a very expensive gift that will tie them even further together, a preemptive “till death do us part”.
The ring fits perfectly snug on Izuku’s finger, glinting gold and golden yellow with a hint of spring green. Of course it fits; it was made to fit the finger of whoever wears it. So Izuku will grow and the ring will grow with him.
Kai lets Izuku slide the other ring onto his finger, the gold darker and duller and inlaid with glittering green emeralds.
A promise for the future. One of many, but this one is tangible and bright and expensive.
Inko cries, joy flooding from her like a bubbling stream. Kai got her a ring, too, just a simple band in green and gold braided together. The promise was for her, as well, after all.
Now, they all will be with each other, always.
— — —
Kachan mostly leaves Izuku alone these days, though he never hesitates to posture and declare himself the best and Izuku the ant he crushes almost by accident, if it weren't for the gleeful way he twists his boot to relish in the crunch.
Izuku mostly keeps to himself. He has better things to do than be a punching bag. Still, he does step in when the blonde gets too rowdy and tries to hurt other students without real provocation. Izuku’s body works as a shield. He may be weak and powerless, but at least he does not cower or flee in the face of danger when he sees injustice needing correcting.
Izuku still sees Katsuki as an ideal, a symbol of victory. The other boy is destined for greatness in a way Izuku could never be. If Izuku wants greatness, he’ll have to claw and tear and bite and struggle with all of his might to get it. He knows, now, that Katsuki is not his friend and most likely never will be again. It doesn’t matter, really. Izuku has two people on his side, and that’s all he needs.
— — —
Kai is twenty when he is called in for a top secret operation. He does not have a license to perform surgery or use his quirk for healing yet. This does not stop whoever is requesting him from doing so regardless.
It’s All Might. Of course it is.
Kai scowls at the number one hero but doesn’t say much, deciding to help against his best judgment because the number one hero will not die and leave Japan in ruins on Kai's watch. That is Izuku's world out there, and he intends for it to remain mostly intact, even as he slowly dismantles and reconstructs it. It is not time for that yet.
Besides, Izuku would be devastated if his favorite hero died.
Kai might not like heroes, but he does love Izuku.
— — —
Izuku understands that he has to work harder, better, faster, smarter than everyone around him. He has to be those things too.
He can never slack off, not once, or he’ll fall behind.
He knows he is less. Not lesser, like they want him to think, just less. There is an absence of something within him.
He has to make up for this lack in other ways. His brain, his hands, his tongue. He will be clever, crafty, courteous, courageous, kind. He is determined to be enough. Just enough is all he needs to get there.
There is only one person in the world who thinks Izuku is perfect without flaw, who thinks Izuku has not a lack but a gift in the shape of mercy and salvation. Even Izuku does not believe this rhetoric; regardless, he strives to live up to it each day. It is this voice that drives him to do better than his best, to be enough.
(The voice still says that he already is.)
— — —
Kai knows that he would not matter half as much if not for his quirk. Everything is about quirks, every field and subject and topic infected with its pervasiveness. It makes his skin crawl, but he ignores it like he does most things. It doesn’t bother him so much if he imagines the way Izuku rambles on and on about them, delightfully clever and brilliantly insightful.
Izuku thinks quirks are humanity’s greatest gift. He also, contradictorily, thinks that Kai is worth more than what his hands can do.
Kai is useful because of his hands, his brain, his tongue. He commands a room, conducts himself with a demeanor of palpable danger and power that cannot be called something so demure as confidence. When he speaks, people listen. When he works, no one dares interrupt. When he takes his gloves off, entire building wings hold their breaths, hold still, fight or flight kicking in, some primal instinct picking freeze.
He does not dissuade them from this reaction. It is beneficial to be feared; it is likewise beneficial to fear something so deadly in order to preserve one’s self.
— — —
Izuku makes lists. Lists about everything and anything, but mostly lists about heroes and villains. Lists detailing each and every little thing a hero needs for success, each and every thing a hero should never do or be.
He starts running. He runs until he’s out of breath and then pushes himself further, going farther still. Every day, he gets up in the early morning, rises with the sun, and follows the sidewalk around the neighborhood and back. The pain and achy soreness is a small price to pay for stamping out his weakness. He is at a disadvantage, missing the most important thing that makes heroes unique and dangerous, meaning he has to perfect every other attribute he can lay claim to.
Someday, Izuku is going to be able to brighten the world with just a smile or a few words. He’s going to make a tangible difference in people’s lives.
In some ways, maybe he needs it as a form of validation, a way to justify his own existence, to say, “I am here,” as in, Please acknowledge that I exist and do not shun me for it.
In other ways, the need is written into his DNA, lines in his intrinsic code that cannot be overwritten or replaced, an innate hymn that sings his body heroic. He is certain that the point of his existence is to be of service to others, to save them, to inspire them and soothe them in whatever way he can.
Kai would disagree. But Kai stubbornly refuses to admit his own heroic attributes, so Izuku thinks his opinion on the matter is mainly moot.
— — —
Kai’s never been a friendly person. He does, however, understand the importance of allies. So when he sees potential – potential he can cultivate and utilize by way of lending a helping hand – well, he doesn’t mind pulling freaks out of the gutter as long as they don’t touch his skin.
He wouldn’t call them friends. Loyal followers, perhaps, or lackeys when he’s feeling particularly cynical.
Kai has big plans for the world. He is going to change it. It doesn’t matter how it resists, he will drag it kicking and screaming the whole way if he has to. That’s the power of his love.
“I'm going to create a world that will treat you kinder, one in which you won't have to feel like you must be a hero in order to save everyone, simply because no one needs that kind of saving,” he promises.
— — —
The local dojos and gyms don’t accept the quirkless. But Izuku is relentless and resourceful, and he does not let this stop him from training his body.
The world will always try to tell him that he cannot. The world will continue pushing him down every chance it gets, reminding him over and over that he is worthless. But Izuku mulishly pushes back, trudges onward, gets back up. He will not allow himself to be cowed; he will not let his goal slip through his grasp.
“I'm going to create a world where kids like you and me don't have to suffer, at least not alone, not without hope,” he swears.
— — —
A man is both feared and revered by the world, and he doesn’t hesitate to use this to his advantage. He is not a good man, but he has reasons for doing good nonetheless.
A man hates and reviles the world, and he works tirelessly to change it. To him, the ideal of betterment has nothing to do with goodness, but rather a misplaced sense of perfection. Even so, the world he wants to create will be good to the people he intends it to be good to.
A man hates and reviles the world, but he hesitates to destroy it completely. He is not a good man, but he has a boy to look after who needs this dreadful world intact, and the man is willing to pretend he understands goodness for his sake.
— — —
A boy is scorned by the world but refuses to give up. He asks the world a question: “Can a worthless person become someone of worth?” The world beats him senseless. The answer is “no”. But the boy gets up, stomachs the pain, and continues on.
A boy is spurned by the universe but refuses to give up. He asks the universe a question: “Can a pathetic person become admirable?” The universe rips him open. The answer is “no”. But the boy gets up, stitches the wound, and continues on.
A boy is hated by nearly everyone but refuses to give up. He asks them all a question: “Can a useless person become useful?” The people knock him down and kick him while he’s there. The answer is “no”. But the boy gets up, breathes despite bruised ribs, and continues on.
A boy is hurt irreparably but refuses to give up. If the world will not offer him hope, he will brave Pandora’s box and take it for himself. He asks himself a question: “Can a weak person become strong?” He is broken into pieces over and over and over. But the boy gets up, puts himself back together, and continues on – because the answer is “yes”. He already is. (Even if he does not know it yet.)
— — —
Kai is just about to turn twenty-four when he meets Eri. She’s four, and her quirk reduced a man to nothing in minutes.
His hands itch.
“I'm calling in that favor you owe me, boy. Need you to take care of this girl. Her quirk’s dangerous and volatile, and you're probably the only way to handle it. And I don’t have time to raise a little girl.”
“You think I do?” Kai snaps, but in the end, he cannot refuse the imperative from his former Boss. He made a deal when he left, after all.
His hands continue to itch.
He tells himself that Izuku would never forgive him for it, and that somewhat soothes the urge. But he yearns to dig his hands into her skin and drag her secrets out. He knows she could be the key to everything, to making the earth rid of disease, to stripping the world of its horrendously incorrect preconceived notions about the best among them.
He does not hurt the girl. With his experience in and access to medical care, it’s not that difficult to prevent accidents. He teaches her when he can on how to use her quirk and turn it off at will.
He takes her blood sometimes, just a little here and there, to study until he runs out. He gets just a little closer to an answer each time.
When it becomes clear that the Shie Hassaikai are not going to be taking her back, at least not anytime soon, Kai accepts his fate and brings her to the Midoriyas. Eri has enough control of her quirk now that they should be fine, and he leaves them with sedatives in both syringes and darts, handing Inko a tranquilizer gun that she balks at but accepts with steady hands. He also provides tiny quirk-neutralizing cuffs for her with strict instructions not to leave them on for longer than an hour at any point (because doing so will only stunt her development and make her quirk harder to control).
Izuku is all too happy to have a little sister. Kai thinks it’s for the best.
Even without the girl invading his space, bumping into his shins and looking up to him with that strange and unwelcome adoration, he regularly fantasizes about ripping her apart. Not because he wants to hurt her. She's a little girl who's done nothing wrong, even if she suffers a similar curse. But he imagines sifting through her blood cells and finding the cure, and he cannot help but conjure up, in his mind, ways in which he might go about doing it.
This does not surprise him. He already knew his monstrous proportions. Izuku is the beast tamer that keeps him at bay, controls his urges, and domesticates him, but Kai is still that ugly, gnawing creature writhing below the surface. (You can take the beast out of the wild but not the wild out of the beast.)
He does not hurt the girl. This does not stop him from thinking about it.
— — —
Izuku is fourteen when he meets All Might, and the trajectory of his life changes irrevocably.
He slaves away for months, digging out and dragging trash and discarded memories from one dump to another. By the ninth month, he collapses in a heap, finally finished.
All Might grins proudly at him as he offers up a hair and tells him to eat it. And, well, Izuku would do worse things for less reward.
Of course, the first time he uses One for All, he breaks about half of the bones in his body. He is still too weak.
Kai shows up at the hospital and looks over his chart impassively. “Izuku.”
“Kai…?”
He levels him with a piercing stare. “What the hell am I looking at?”
“So, I may have, um, manifested a quirk?” He’s going to tell Kai the truth, at some point, just not here or now. There are better places for such a conversation.
Kai’s golden eyes narrow dangerously. “At fifteen? And it breaks your bones when you use it?” He runs a hand over his masked face. “Gods, Izuku, only you.”
Izuku chuckles nervously. He goes to shrug but winces at the sharp spike of pain.
“Don’t move, idiot,” Kai chides. “Let’s sedate you, and then I’ll fix you up, alright?”
Inko frets worriedly but signs the forms that allow Kai to use his quirk on Izuku’s busted limbs. He’s almost sad that he won’t be awake for it, even though the memory of the time Kai overhauled his leg still makes him sick to think about. Something about it is still beautiful. Deadly, dangerous, disgusting, but magnificent regardless.
Kai does not agree. It’s fine, though. Izuku will live without sating his curiosity.
— — —
Ambivalence and cognitive dissonance incite a storm within his stomach, a war in his mind. Izuku is the one good thing on this green but godforsaken earth – pure and holy, untouched by the rampant disease that plagues everything else.
Now, even Izuku is touched by the hand of death. The rotten pestilence seeps into even the most perfect of creatures. Kai looks at his own hands in dismay, thoughts a cataclysm, crashing into one another and drowning out reason as he fights for breath.
Is it somehow his own fault? Has he infected Izuku with his curse of ruin?
Maybe so. But Izuku is still the rarest gem, free from imperfection. This will not dull his shine or crack his composition. It may be a setback, but it is not a disaster.
Izuku is perfect regardless of circumstance. He has lived fifteen years without the pestilence running through his veins, which is more than most can say. That is a miracle in and of itself.
Izuku is Kai’s miracle, without exception.
His hands are so small, Kai thinks, watching his own cover the smaller pair entirely. Deft and clever fingers. Scarred, yes, but not nearly as much as they could be. Just big enough to hold his heart. Strange, that his heart, which feels too large for his chest, can fit perfectly in such little palms. But perhaps not all that strange, when he truly ponders it. His heart only needs to be as large as what his lover can hold. His love only needs to be as big as what Izuku can take. And Izuku is the strongest person Kai has ever known.
He will not neglect to love his boy for something as petty as sickness.
— — —
Izuku wakes with all of his limbs remarkably intact. He smiles at his soulmate sleepily. “My hero.”
Kai rolls his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s my job, you brat.”
“Yeah, your job is to be a hero who helps people.”
Kai pinches his side, making him squeak and giggle as he wriggles away. “The only hero in this room is you.”
Izuku flushes. He twines his fingers between Kai’s with a small, giddy grin. “I’m going to be, soon. I have a quirk now.”
Kai smooths back his curls and looks him in the eye. “You already are one, Izuku. The quirk isn’t what gives you that quality; it’s just you. You are the hero, with or without a quirk. I won’t hear a word otherwise, understood?”
“Alright, alright.” Izuku’s eyes crinkle as he looks up at his soulmate happily. “I love you.”
Kai bumps their foreheads together. “And I, you.”
Some part of Izuku – the hungry, insecure beast curled up within him, restlessly and endlessly crying out for validation and reassurance – settles at that. Perhaps he was a bit afraid that Kai’s love for him would diminish once Izuku had a quirk, as if his only value in the man’s eyes was his quirklessness, that so-called purity that Kai reveres. He’s relieved that that doesn’t seem to be the case. It was probably silly to be worried to begin with.
Kai’s not the kind of man who is so fickle as to abandon him over a trifle disruption in the status quo.
Izuku takes the plunge and leans in to press the tiniest of kisses to his partner’s lips, pulling back just as quickly with his face red and shy.
Kai leans back in and returns the gesture with a smirk, just as brief, yet causing Izuku’s heart to pound against his ribs like a drum he feels echoed in his whole body. “Careful, love, or you might tempt me to devour you.”
Izuku buries his heated face in Kai’s neck with a breathless laugh.
— — —
Kai blows out a breath of relief. Turns out, the quirk that Izuku “manifested” doesn’t belong to him at all. He is still pure, able to relinquish the mantle of disease at any time. Not that Izuku will, of course, as stubborn and willful and determined as he is. He’s taken on this burden dauntlessly, without regret, intending to see it all the way through.
Despite the situation, Kai is proud of him.
When he gets into UA, Kai is there to celebrate with him, along with Inko and Eri. Izuku dances around the kitchen with Eri on his feet, both of them laughing gleefully. Kai even finds it in himself to crack a smile.
— — —
Izuku beams as green sparks of electricity crackle over his skin. He moves with a grace, speed, and strength he’s never known previously.
He is one enormous step closer to making the world a better place for as many people as he can. He has never been happier.
He knows Kai is watching him right now. His mom and Eri are there, too, cheering him on. His friends are at his side, ready to conquer this new challenge together. He has never been more loved.
Even amidst the excitement of the day and the nervousness of being on live television, Izuku’s thoughts drift to the after. His favorite part of any day is seeing his soulmate, and even if he wins first place, today will be no exception.
The love he receives from Kai is worth more than all the rest combined, even if he won’t admit it aloud. It’s nothing against anyone else, but his soulmate’s heart is his most precious treasure, his most valuable commodity. It’s a pedestal no other soul can reach. Not even his own.
— — —
These days, his plans for changing the world have taken a backseat to watching Izuku grow into himself, becoming a man and the hero he’s always dreamed of being. The world does not need changing right this minute, so he puts it on the back burner to simmer slowly.
Kai’s hands may be stained with blood, but it is a small price to pay for Izuku’s hands to remain steady and clean. A study in contrast, a complimentary juxtaposition. He would trade the world for this boy, burn it to ashes, rewrite history and the future both. It’s worth nothing to him. The only thing preventing him from tearing it all out by the roots is Izuku’s adamantness that he can save it without destroying it first. That they both can save it.
Perhaps changing the world is something they can do together, in their own ways.
— — —
Izuku’s favorite color is gold. Like the summer sun on the day he met his soulmate, like Kai’s molten eyes, like first place medals, and like All Might’s hair and hero costume. It is the color of the ring he wears on a necklace everywhere he goes.
— — —
Kai’s favorite color is green. Like spring, like fresh and new, like plants that give life and clean the air for people to breathe, like the best parts of the earth in all of their purity. Like Midoriya Izuku, and his hair, and his eyes. Like lightning and ozone and petrichor. It is the color of the emeralds inlaid in the ring worn on his left hand.
— — —
“You are a hero, no matter what you say, Kai.”
“If that is true, then it is only because you were my hero first, Izuku.”
— — —
They echo these oaths to one another, year after year:
I will be a hero.
I will love you forever.
I will change the world for you.
— — —
Some promises are inevitable. Some promises are made to be kept.
— — —
This is where the story ends. This, too, is where it begins.